


Like Smoke

by Makkoska



Category: Naruto
Genre: 1st person pov, Angst, First Time, HashiMada, I've been angry with Hashirama, M/M, and Madara as well, but I still love Hashirama, but this was good self-therapy, courting, founding of Konoha-area, lucky that last chapter didn't interfere with what I wrote before, old konoha, spoilers for manga chapters, thinking back on the good old times, this could have been more edited but I've been too excited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makkoska/pseuds/Makkoska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hashirama reflects on happiness found and lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> HashiMada, yaoi, spoilers for the latest manga chapters.

  
  


People can be frighteningly dense – so often they don’t even comprehend how precious happiness is. They think it’s natural when they feel it, as if it was life’s duty to make them satisfied. That it’s guaranteed to have what you wish for. When they lose it -and they always do, at least it seems so- they curse fate and cry for the good old times. Have they realized in time how lucky they were, have they risen and gone to bed every day grateful to have someone or something to make them happy, they wouldn’t have lost it at all.

 

But maybe I’m unfair. Probably not everybody is like that. I’ve no means to know how others feel. All I’m sure about is that I found happiness twice in my life, and both times I let it slip from my fingers.

 

How many are granted a second chance? I hoped, but never really believed I could get it. At first I knew that I was lucky. Strange how I forgot who’s the most important for me in the end.

 

Of course, I have my excuses. Duty, expectations, my clan, my brother. My people - my village, which I dreamed of founding ever since I was a kid. I felt a point has come where I could no longer afford to choose my personal feelings over the needs of Konoha. Have I done what was the best for my people? Did I serve the greater good, if such a thing exists at all? That’s for the future to tell. What I know is that I lost my chance of happiness, for good this time, with that fatal blow.

 

Madara...

 

That first time when I have lost him, we were both children, full with the naive dreams of adolescents fighting adults’ battles. Still, his absence left an aching emptiness inside me that I thought would never be filled. I remember how I tossed and turned on sleepless nights, mulling over whether telling him how I felt, confessing that I loved him, would have made any difference. Had he denied me still there at the river bank? But I’d been too scared and confused by my own emotions. I dreaded he’d laugh at me, or worse, despise me for them. Years had to pass before I understood - he wouldn’t have chosen differently even if he knew how I felt. That he didn’t have a choice - to protect his younger brother, who was the most important to him, he had to turn his back on me.  I’d been jealous of Izuna for this. I was ready to throw away everything for Madara, but he didn’t feel the same way. I wanted nothing more than for him to look at me with openness, acceptance - with love. That it couldn’t be forced, that I couldn’t _make_ him feel that way, I understood much later - too late. But then, in my teens, I couldn’t comprehend it. When I was still busy with childish dreaming and quick, guilty masturbations under the cover, he already knew what it meant to take responsibility for someone.

 

But, as Tobirama was keen to point it out many times, realizing something quickly is not one of my strengths. Those years of clan wars, when we clashed again and again and he attacked with his full might, while I concentrated only on avoiding the blows, I suffered terribly. I understood only when I became the leader of the Senjus that Madara couldn’t let, didn’t want to let himself think of me as anything but his enemy. Accepting this was not something I was willing to do though. I still dreamed that one day he would change his mind, that when he looked at me, it wouldn’t be with blood, death and the hatred connecting our clans for generations reflecting in his eyes. That he wouldn’t only see the Senju, but _me,_ that foolish, dangerously naive kid, who he for some reason didn’t made a fool of when he shared the dream of a village where even shinobis could live in peace.

 

Probably that’s why I was ready to take my own life on his wish. If I did so, I thought, in that last moment, before my heart stopped beating, his eyes would change. That he’d suddenly realize; I’d never forgot him. Then, before the world went dark, I would see him looking at me as his friend again. Sinking the blade into my stomach seemed a low price for it.

 

But something so much better happened.

 

After that last battle before our clans made peace, after Madara accepted my offer, I kept touching my wrist for days where he grabbed it. Just as it had excited me in our childhood when I recalled our talks and our trainings, the memory of his touch and the shifting emotions in his eyes filled my body and soul with happiness now.

 

Weeks had passed before we agreed on all details and it was time for our formal handshake. My mood kept swinging back and forth between desperate impatience and joyful planning - or rather, daydreaming. We exchanged numerous letters, but I could hardly comprehend their content. I was too busy sliding my fingers down on the words he wrote, imagining the slender yet powerful hand that held the brush. The hand that stopped mine, before I could spill my own guts. I wanted to hold it between my own palms and cover it with kisses. I was either euphoric that I can see him again soon or deep in despair that he was not with me right then.

 

Poor Tobirama, I think I drove him mad. He had to do most of the coordination and arrangements while I was either high on my cloud of dreams or down in the hell of my doubts. I’m afraid that these few weeks just made him hate Madara even more. All he could see was how I completely lost my mind - not for the first or last time, when it came to Madara. This gnaws me still. I was my responsibility to smooth the rocky relationship between my brother and the Uchihas, but I failed miserably. First in a long row of mistakes I can now see so clearly. Looking back, it’s easy to pinpoint the milestones where I had the chance to make a decision to right things. So many times I’ve made the wrong choice.

 

But it wasn’t how I saw things then. I was young and desperate - but I don’t want to make excuses. As it was, Tobirama’s angry words just needled me as they took away time from pleasant daydreaming. I don’t think love had a good effect on me. If I look at it like that, it’s lucky that I never felt anything that could be compared what I did for Madara.

 

The so-awaited day had come in the end of course. The official conciliation, the handshake and the celebrations afterwards. First it was tense of course, but soon it got cheerful enough, with no small thanks to the level of alcohol consumed. It was a joy to see how the Senjus and Uchihas, enemies forever, realized the other clan was full of people like them. Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters, brothers and friends. The tears we shed in joy or in mourning is the same. Even those who were afraid of a trap, a stab in the back - and I’m sure there were plenty on both sides - couldn’t resist the pull of celebrations. It was more than I could ever hope for. I suddenly realized that my dream of a shinobi village was within reach. And to make it more perfect, I had the man sitting next to me, to whom, years ago, I first dared to talk about this. Who, in all honesty, inspired the whole idea.

 

Soon enough I was dizzy from the buzz around me and from the cups after cups of sake I drank. I don’t remember who I talked to - seemed like every member of both clans - and what have I said. With Madara we exchanged a few words only, but those I can recall even now.

 

Finally, after a successful but very tiring evening, we ended up alone. I remember pulling the slide-door of my room closed. Madara’s dark eyes flashed at me from under that thick, forever dishevelled crown of hair. Standing there I realized that at some point over the years I’ve become the taller and stronger in build. This, and all the alcohol burning in my veins gave me enough courage to do something exceptionally stupid.

 

Madara was talking to me, but I didn’t understand is words, probably didn’t even hear him from the blood pounding loud in my ears. Suddenly I felt I couldn’t wait a moment longer. I longed for him for so many years, craving his body and soul. Without thinking it through I reached out and pulled him close, one of my hands on his slender waist, the other in his hair. He opened his mouth in indignation - probably to question me for what I was doing - and I took advantage, kissing him deeply, pushing my tongue in between his soft lips. He tasted of sake and spices and was just perfect, just as I always imagined him to be. It couldn’t have lasted longer than a few heartbeats, but that was enough for me to gain a painfully hard erection, as if I was an inexperienced kid still. I wanted to lay him down and make love to him right there on the floor, barely through the door.

 

Madara got quickly over his shock and easily freed himself from my grasp. Before I could say anything, he punched me hard enough to make my nose bleed, splattering my white ceremonial dress with red stains. That sobered me up like a bucket of cold water. I wanted to smash my head against the wall, or throw myself at his feet to beg forgiveness. I’d waited so long to have him with me again, and I was terrified that I ruined the whole thing with my reckless action.

 

“Madara, I...” I started, though I didn’t know what to say. Confess that I loved him, that I’d always loved him? That I wanted to have him, like never anyone else? That I was unspeakably happy to have him with me as an ally and not a foe? I guess I would have only made the situation worse if I'd said any, so it was all for the best that he interrupted.

 

“You’re drunk,” he said with deep disgust. “Tomorrow, when you have a clear head, we need to talk. I can see it would be useless to try now.”

 

He left me standing there alone, feeling like the biggest idiot on earth. That night although I was tired, I hardly slept at all.

 

Next day when the two of us sat down to talk, Madara pretended nothing had happened. Though it would have been easier, I felt I couldn’t let it pass.

 

“About last night,” I turned to him. His eyes flashed at me in anger, but I didn’t let myself be deterred. “I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk. Or probably I did it because I was drunk,” I amended, smiling ungracefully “but I want it sober as well. For very long...”

 

“Have you lost your mind completely?!” he whispered on voice hoarse with emotions I couldn’t fathom.

 

“Probably,” I confessed. “I didn’t want to start it like this, but I can’t keep it in secret - I love you!”

 

His deep, dark eyes opened wide for a moment, before he narrowed them in suspicion. He ran an aggravated hand through his hair, making it even more unruly. It took me considerable willpower not to lean in close and smooth out those stubborn locks from his eyes.

 

“I don’t know what’s your game, Hashirama,” he hissed. “Do you think you own my clan now and me as well?!”

 

“No, don’t get me wrong please!” I cried in despair. I rose up on my knees to slide closer to him. He jumped to his feet when I tried to touch his shoulder, so I sat back on my heels and looked up at him. The most important thing in the world right then was to make him understand; I didn’t want to cause him harm, I just couldn’t disguise my feelings any longer. “Madara...you’re precious to me. You can’t imagine what a misery it was to be apart from you...”

 

“What are you talking about? We were enemies up till now,” he pointed an accusing finger at me.

 

“I never thought you as my enemy!” I jumped to my feet as well, and although he tried to pull his hand back I grasped it tightly. “I always thought of you as my friend and more...”

 

I could read his emotions clearly as I looked him in the eye; fear, unbelief, anger and maybe desperation, before he got them under his control and hid them behind a haughty face.

 

“I don’t know what you think of me, why I’d be willing to do something like _that,”_ he grimaced. He looked so young in that moment, and we were, both of us. “I don’t fancy men anyway, not that I suspected you to... Anyhow, I’m sure you’ll find someone to satisfy your... urges.”

 

“Madara, it’s only you I want something from!” I must have looked like a complete fool to him, with my face flushed and my voice trembling with emotions. His eyes flashed, in fury or fright, I couldn’t tell, as I stepped closer. He glared at his hand I was still grasping between my sweaty palms, as if he just realised I was still holding onto him. “Please give me a chance - you deserve happiness, and I would give anything to make you...”

 

My heart seemed to jump up to my throat. We were so close that our bodies touched, I could feel the heat radiating from him. He didn’t pull away when I tipped my head down. Our lips just brushed when he gave a little jump and stepped back.

 

“You’re talking nonsense! I don’t need _you_ of all people to make me happy.”

 

Throughout the years he always gave me a similar reply when I talked about this. After a while he downright said that he didn’t need happiness at all. It used to fill me with a gnawing pain, just as it did at that first time. It broke my heart no matter how often he said it.

 

He turned to leave me alone with my desires and anguish. But in the door he stopped. He didn’t turn back, just bowed his head and asked in a weaker than usual voice. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yes! Of course! I never thought anything so seriously...!”

 

“You’re really a fool.”

 

He looked back over his shoulder. Though his face was mostly shadowed by his thick, long mane of hair, I believe I saw him smiling. He was gone the next instant, but that sole gesture was enough to give me hope that my efforts might not have been in vain.

 

We met more and more often and every time I tried to -gently but unrelenting- make him understand that my feelings were serious. If I look back now, I have to admit; I’ve no clue what _he_ felt, seeing my determined courting. I’ve been so caught up in my own desires, I was so sure that I’d be the best for him, if I could only convince him so, that I didn’t even wonder what he really wanted. I don’t think this fact speaks of me highly, but - and the old excuse again - I was young and out of my mind with love, with the yearning to win his heart and body.

 

Two things existed for me at the time - founding the village and conquering Madara. Though I never consciously draw the connection between the two, I now know they were intertwined. I had a hope that I never dared to voice, even to myself, that if we were to live at the same place I could see him whenever I wanted, I wouldn’t have to suffer long days, weeks alone between our two meetings. Also, I’d know he was safe, I could protect him, and so get rid of the fear that he’d lose in a battle, that he’d get seriously injured or would die.

 

No wonder Madara was mad at me, if he suspected that’s how I felt. He was, just as me, the strong leader of a powerful clan. Even if he wanted someone to take away some of the weight of responsibility, wanted me to offer a shoulder he could lean on, he couldn’t admit it. I used to think he needed me for this. Now, after so many years, when the ache is no more than a dull, if constant pain I learned to ignore, I can see more clearly. I’m not so sure any longer if he ever needed me. It’s quite possible that it was only me who wanted us to be close. Had I realized this, it wouldn’t have taken me by such surprise when he left. The shock wouldn’t have turned into pain, pain into bitter anger. I loved him - why didn’t I see what he wanted, only what _I_ thought was good for him?

 

But no... he _must_ have felt something. After all, slowly he yielded, or maybe just got used to me trying to win him so hard. Maybe he even found it flattering. He started to let me touch his arms, his hair. Sometimes even returned my gestures. But whenever I lost my head -and it happened a few times- and I tried to get more, he always slithered out from my arms. Afterwards he didn’t talk to me for days, and I was left with healing the bruises I got for my aggressiveness. Once I kept one of them as a reminder but Tobirama questioned me on it - that resulted in one of our ugliest arguments. My brother could never grasp the notion that without Madara my life couldn’t be full - as it has indeed, never become full.

 

I’ll never forget the day when finally he let me kiss him. We were standing on the plateau, where we used to spend time as kids and looked down at the valley under us. We’d just made the decision the day before that the village - our village - would be built there. It was a dream came true. I didn’t even think when I embraced Madara’s waist and pulled him tight against me. He let me, and in a moment or two, even laid his head on my shoulder. For a long while we stayed like that, before I turned to face him and pressed my lips to his. The first tender kiss soon became the battle of tongues. When we parted at last we were both breathing fast and heavy. He was more stunning than ever with his unruly hair and flushed face. It’s a miracle I had the presence of mind not to try more right there, unheeding that anyone could happen on us.

 

In the end my persistence paid off.

 

The then still nameless village started to build. Where used to be nothing but the wilderness, buildings sprouted from the ground, like mushrooms after rain. We were in one of the temporary huts - it proved to be easier to move there than to come at daybreak and leave at nightfall every day. We were both tired and covered in dust, full of bruises as, in our enthusiasm, we joined the workers, not that we were much help.

 

Despite, or maybe exactly because of this, we were deeply satisfied. Madara was more relaxed than usual, we joked as we couldn’t decide, in our playful competitions - made up on the spot while carrying planks and bricks- who won. We were both adamant that we worked harder, but in the end I let him claim himself as winner. Seeing him filled with joy was a reward enough.

 

He grinned at me as he lazily, but still gracefully sprawled in a chair, stretching his long, lean legs out. His usual tenseness seemed to evaporate. The last time I saw him so happy was in our childhood. He kept smiling when I leaned over and kissed him. He raked his fingers through my matted hair, trying to smooth out the tangles.

 

After the kiss I pulled him up and lead him to the futon, and he didn’t protest. He appeared serious now and a bit nervous, but there was no rejection in his glance. As for myself, I was so excited that my hands shook as I undressed both of us. Though he lay down on the mattress when I urged him to, I could feel his muscles tense up under my touch, so I forced myself to be as gentle and patient as I was able to be, even if I yearned nothing more than him to be finally mine. I wanted him to trust me, to accept me. I also, desperately, wanted him to enjoy what I was doing to him. I kissed all over his slender, yet strong body. Like for every shinobi, scars criss-crossed his fair skin, memento of countless battles - faded, old ones, and fresher injuries as well, tender and pink. I paid extra attention to these. Slowly his muscles started to relax as he let himself enjoy my touch. By the time I run my tongue down his tight stomach to bury my nose in his dark pubic hair, inhaling his scent deeply, he had his palm on the back of my head and guided me with small moans, letting me know what caused him pleasure.

 

I felt terribly clumsy when I took hold of his erection and started to stroke it. I had lovers before, but only women, so I tried to do what I would have enjoyed in his stead. But even if I had experience with other men, that wouldn’t have lessened my nervousness. He was Madara. No one before or after him really mattered.

 

I hoped for this for such a long time, so I was prepared to have a phial of oil with me. When I dripped some onto my fingers and touched his bottom, his body tensed up again. For a terrible moment I thought he would shove me away, but he took a deep breath and relaxed a bit. He rose up on his elbows and bit his lower lip as he watched how I pushed first one, then two of my fingers up his body and started to loosen him there.

 

With every aroused moan my heart beat faster. With every pained hiss I cursed myself for not being careful enough. I believe it was the first time for him to be together with anyone. I’ve never asked. I couldn’t endure the thought of someone else touching him like I did, so I preferred not to know anything.

 

I thought I might just die of excitement and happiness when I penetrated him, sinking torturously slowly into his tight heat. His nails dug into my neck and his back bowed up in a tight arch as he gasped for air and hissed curses through gritted teeth. When I was at last fully sheathed, we stayed still for a long minute. He was trying to get accustomed to the surely painful feeling and I tried not to come immediately. I caressed his hair and face, whispering nonsenses, until he met my eyes. I smiled at him and he snorted, releasing a long breath. Slowly I started to rock into him and in a short while he was meeting my thrusts, raising his hips, moving with me. As the pace increased, he wove his legs around my waist, and I grasped his thighs and bottom greedily. In the end I was rougher than I wanted to be, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. Madara pulled on my hair hard enough that my scalp itched for a day afterwards, his nails raked down on my back, tearing my skin, but he kept looking me in the eye, and I could see pleasure, not just pain in his glance.

 

I didn’t last long. I don’t know what I gasped, or maybe yelled when suddenly my orgasm hit, making my body tremble from head to toe as I found my release deep inside him. Maybe it was his name, probably that I loved him. It took some time for the world to come back into focus.

 

“Hashirama,” he whispered as I rolled off and slipped free from his body.

 

I was so happy to hear my name on his lips, but it also made me realize he was still unsatisfied, though it wasn’t my intention to be selfish. I kneeled between his spread legs and rather clumsily took his reddened erection into my mouth. I certainly wasn’t skilful, but he still urged me on with small whimpers and soft touches on my hair. My wandering hand found his hole again, slick with the oil, his blood and my semen. When I slid my fingers in, he gasped and trembled. It wasn’t long before he spilled his seed in my mouth.

 

Coughing, but very satisfied with myself I lay down next to him, pulling him close. He grimaced at first when I wanted to kiss him, but in the end opened his mouth to me.

 

“I love you,” I whispered into his ear.

 

“You’re a fool,” despite his words he seemed content as well. He cuddled closer and I pulled the cover over us. Though both of us were dirty, sweaty and sticky, we fall asleep almost immediately.

 

Would I have the power to go back in time, I’d choose the short period that came afterwards, and re-live it again and again.

 

The village was building fast, and we were everywhere, helping, or probably often hindering the work. When we could, we sneaked off to somewhere private and made love. It wasn’t easy amidst so many watching eyes, but it just gave an extra spice for the whole affair.

 

Everything seemed so perfect. I wanted to shout out my joy for the whole world to know, but Madara always warned me that he couldn’t afford it to be known - he became my lover. As I couldn’t afford it, though I hardly managed to keep it in secret. Tobirama suspected it still and wasn’t pleased with it, but I mostly chose to ignore him, unkind as it was. But talking about Madara with him way always a sour thing to do, and I was selfish enough to exclude everything and everyone from my mind that could have stoppered my joy for a time.

 

How did I lose that happiness? When have things gone wrong? Was it when I’d been chosen to be the Hokage instead of him and I accepted it, or much sooner, right from those days when I agreed to keep our relationship secret, as if it was something shameful? When I have started to choose expectations and duty over him?

 

I knew, even in my euphoria, that Madara was often tortured by doubts. He felt he was humiliating himself with becoming my lover, that he was a lesser man for it, that letting me make love to him degraded him. There were times when he didn’t let me touch him for days, but in the end he always gave in.

 

I should have done more to ease his mind. I knew him the best - I should have understood what he was going through. But when he left I was dumbfounded and shocked. I couldn't comprehend why he made his decision, so probably I didn’t knew him at all.

 

As time passed by this perplexity over my sudden loss turned to an unrelenting ache. Then, as he became a danger to the village, to fury.

 

It would be easy to claim my feelings were only due to fear for my people. But that’s not the complete truth. I resented him for leaving me. I’d laid my heart bare, I was ready to give him everything, and he had the audacity to throw it back to my face like _this?_ I’m not proud of it. I’d like to think myself as a better man, someone who didn’t expect gratitude for his love. But I craved for him so much, that I probably missed the real man, shadowed over by my ideas of him. Was that part of the reason he left? I wouldn’t be surprised, but I’ll never know for sure now.

 

All I can say is how _I_ felt. How I locked up that unbearable pain, my unrequited love for him, my anger, my incomprehension deep inside me. All left in their wake was emptiness. It helped to convince me; I had the right to condemn him for choosing a different path - one that ran away from me.

 

What led my hand that fatal day? Duty I had for the people I pledged to protect? He had become an enemy and I had no choice in the end. But also... wasn’t it my bitterness over how he left me? It was intolerable that he wouldn’t be mine ever again - didn’t I wanted to have revenge for that? Had I killed him, because it was preferable to let him live without me?

 

I don’t have the answer to these questions. I never gathered the courage to look deep inside myself for it. I’m afraid what would I find.

 

When I delivered the fatal blow, I felt as cold as the blade that pierced his chest. My words echoed in my ears, but they were emotionless, meaningless. Condemning him. Claiming the village my dream only, excluding him from it, as he excluded me from his heart. If I had let myself feel, I would have failed. But for time it was necessary, he meant nothing for me.

 

That cold emptiness remained for long inside me, concealing all warmth and love I had for him. It was much later - I was already back in Konoha, bathed clean from his and my own blood, bandaged and proclaimed a hero, then finally left alone - when the icy surface shattered. The impact of what had happened, what I had done dropped on me then, weighty as a ton of rocks. I fall to my knees, sobbing and heaving, vomiting out all my stomach could give. The vile taste of bile and the salt of my tears mixed in my mouth as I tried to gasp for air in vain though my constricting windpipe. My fingers clawed the floor until my nails got torn and bleeding. When Tobirama found me, I already had my sword - the one I killed Madara with - in my hand, ready to follow him into death.

 

He took the blade from me - I didn’t have the strength to resist - and hold me close until I calmed down a bit. He was never the tender type, but his firm embrace then had a smoothing effect on my jumbled mind.

 

“It had to be done,” he whispered, pulling the hair out of my sweaty, tear-streaked face, wiping the corners of my mouth clean with his sleeve as if I was an infant. “Brother, you had no choice, he was a danger to everyone. You had to stop him - no one else could have done it.”

 

I clung to his calm, no-nonsense tone, glad that he didn’t speak of right or wrong, didn’t say I-told-you-so, just stated what he believed facts. I grasped this, desperate to have it drag me back from the brink of insanity. If one good thing came out of my decision, it’s that I grew closer to my brother. I’ve been angry with him for so long for not understanding what was between me and Madara, but in the end, he didn’t judge. Ever since he’s like a solid rock in my life that I can lean on, when the weight becomes too heavy.

 

I put that sword away after that - I never used it again. There are days when it still tempts me to draw it, to run it through my guts, and go after Madara. But I have chosen my path when I stroke him down and I’ve decided to walk it. With him no longer in my life, it was much easier to do what was expected of me.

 

I’ve did so many things since then. I’ve become the strong and determined leader I vowed to be. I try to be a loving father to my children and an at least correct husband to my wife. No one needs to know it’s a mask I wear, every day. That I lie awake at nights, staring at the ceiling.

 

Nobody is privy to my own, private hell. That’s only for me and I keep it jealously close. This gnawing cold emptiness is all I have left from Madara. I wouldn’t part from it. I cherish it.

 

Who’s responsible for what happened? I could blame Tobirama, I could blame Madara - and I did both for a time. But truly, it’s me just as well. As I’ve grown older I can see my mistakes clearer with each passing day. Slowly the ache becomes duller, but it will never vanish.

 

I still long for him, vain as it is. I wish to hold him in my arms for one last time. To see one of his rare smiles, meant only for me alone. To breath in his scent, get lost in his warmth. I desperately hope that when my life comes to an end, I will see him again. Maybe then I could explain, make him see how I loved him and beg for his forgiveness for failing him so.

 

But wishes and hopes are like smoke - without substance. They slip through my fingers when I try to grasp them, leaving nothing in their wake.

  


**THE END**

  


  
  
  
  
  



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